The Man and the Candle
by Whispi
Summary: A little boy stops John on the street and asks about Sherlock. John drops his cane and isn't sure he can deal with it. Sherlock just wants to be in the loop. Post-Reichenbach. Can be read as Johnlock or not. Reviews appreciated/wanted desperately.


"Hey, you look like that guy from the paper!"

John stiffened and stopped on the sidewalk. He turned around, leaning heavily on his cane. Standing there was a small boy, probably no older than eight.

"Do I, then?" John said, examining the kid. His shirt was half untucked and his shoes were scuffed and dirty. He had a shock of blond-white hair that he had to keep brushing away from his eyes.

"Yeah," said the boy, who seemed to be scrutinizing John as well. "You knew that odd guy who jumped off that building. Didn't you? Sir?"

John swallowed hard and blinked rapidly as if to clear his vision. "I suppose..." He cleared his throat. "I suppose I did."

"You suppose? Sir, beg pardon, but you either knew him or you didn't."

"It's not that simple," John replied, starting off again.

The boy began to walk alongside him. He was so small that he had to take two steps for every one of John's. "They say that man was mad. Off his rocker. Bonkers. Lost his marbles."

"I thought so too, sometimes," John said. He wished the boy would go away. He was beginning to get upset.

"I heard he didn't have a soul," said the boy, looking up at John. "That it was sucked out of him by one of those dead bodies he was always messing around with. And I heard..." The boy's voice dropped to a near whisper. "I heard he killed that other man on the roof. Shot him through the head, he did. My daddy says he couldn't keep it in any longer, that the murderer in him was bound to come out sometime."

John stopped short and turned to stare at the kid. His hands were suddenly shaking uncontrollably, shaking so hard he couldn't hold his cane. The cane clattered to the floor, and without it John found he couldn't support his own weight. He crumpled to the sidewalk.

"Sir!" cried the boy, kneeling down beside John. "Are you okay? Do you want me to call a doctor?"

John stared at the kid for a long time, and he finally said, "It's fine. I am a doctor. And it's fine." He swallowed and reached for his cane. No one had talked about Sherlock to him since it happened. It seemed the entire city knew not to. All except for this boy.

John heaved himself off the ground, using his cane for support. He looked down at the boy. "Let me tell you something," he said, swallowing hard. "I want you to listen, all right? All right?"

The kid nodded, looking solemnly up at John.

"Sherlock Holmes was the best man, the best person I ever knew. He was...was..." How could he describe what Sherlock had been to the city, to the country, to the world? To him? "The champion of London."

"Sir?"

"If anything bad happened, Sherlock was there, always. To help. Because he could. Now, I want you to tell all your friends, your family, anyone who will listen, tell them that..." John paused, afraid his voice would shake.

When he didn't speak for a long while, the kid said, "He was your friend, wasn't he?"

There. "Tell them that," John said. "Tell them Sherlock was my friend, and if I ever believed in anything I believed in him." John felt a tear drip out of his eye and slide down his cheek.

The kid just stared at him.

"What?" John said.

"It's my first time seeing a man cry." The kid's mouth twitched into a little smile.

"Let me tell you, it won't be your last," John told him. "Now, run along to your mum. I'm sure she misses you."

The kid started off down the street.

"Wait!" John called, and the kid turned around. "Will you tell them what I said?"

The kid shrugged. "I guess. It'd be a bit weird."

"Alright then," John said, sighing heavily. "Go on, then."

He watched the boy run off down the street and disappear into the bustling crowd.

* * *

The boy hustled down the street and turned into an alleyway. He looked up at a big wooden door with some apprehension. What if the man, Sherlock Holmes, had lied and wouldn't give him the money? Was it a trap?

He opened the door anyway.

"Ah, William, did you find him?"

The voice came out of the shadows. William, the boy, could barely make out the silhouette of the speaker.

Then Sherlock Holmes stepped into the glow of one solitary candle. "Well?"

"I found him, sir," said William.

"Wonderful," said Sherlock. "And?"

"And what, sir?"

"How was he? What did he say when you talked about me?" Sherlock's eyes seemed to blaze, although William wasn't sure if that was just the candle.

"I think he misses you, sir?"

"You think?"

"Well, sir," said William, swallowing nervously. He just wanted his money. "He fell to the ground when I said you were a murderer. Dropped his cane, sir?"

"He's back on that old thing, is he?" Sherlock murmured, staring at the candle. "What else?"

"He said...he said..." William struggled to remember. "He said, 'Sherlock was my friend, and if I ever believed in anything I believed in him.' I think that's right."

Sherlock pressed his lips together tightly, and for once he said nothing.

After a while the boy ventured, "He called you the champion of London, sir." And for some reason William couldn't help but grin.

Sherlock's eyes lit up and he let out a loud "Ha!"

"What?" said William, unnerved by this sudden change of mood.

"How very, very _John_ of him!" Sherlock said, grinning. "Romanticizing and dramatizing everything. Thank you, William."

"Do you have my money, sir?"

Wordlessly, Sherlock handed him the desired coins, and William's eyes lit up. "Thank you, sir!"

"And you, William. And another thing."

"Yes?"

"Don't breathe a word of this."

"Sir?"

"Don't."

William stared into Sherlock's face and thought he looked a thousand years old. "Yes sir."

He hurried out into the alleyway and back onto the bright, crowded street. The dark room, the man, and the candle already seemed like a dream.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes paced back and forth, in and out of the light of the candle. "I'm coming back, John," he said to the room at large.

_He'll wait_, Sherlock thought to himself, stepping back into the shadows. _He will._ Sherlock didn't doubt it, didn't trouble himself, and didn't bother to consider any other possibility. He knew his John.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Reviews greatly appreciated. :) There's not exactly a coherent plot, but...um...I don't really care.**

**Whispi**


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